"No we didn't exchange numbers," I tell her. "What was the point? It was what it was."
"And apparently a hell of a lot more to the rest of the world."
"We'll see," I say with a sigh just as my phone beeps. It's a text from Tiffany.
All caps.
OMG YOU'RE FAMOUS! DID YOU SEE?!
And then she sends a million links and screenshots of the infamous pictures.
When it stops I text: Old news Tiffy. Now I need you to find out who took those fucking pictures! Do you know who it could have been?
NO IDEA! She replies. BUT LET ME PUT ON MY THINKING CAP.
Tiffany's thinking cap isn't always screwed on properly, so I'm staring at the phone for a few moments, waiting for her to reply and come up with something when there's a buzz at the door.
I glance at Carla. "Are you expecting someone?"
She shakes her head and goes over to the console on the wall, pressing the button. "Who is it?"
///
"Is this Alyssa Martin?" A raspy voice says.
The same raspy voice that told me I was gorgeous when I came. Who told me he wanted to fuck me hard with his tongue.
Oh. No.
"No this is Carla, who is this?" Carla says, obviously not recognizing Emmett's voice like I do.
"Does Alyssa live there?"
"Who is asking?" she volleys back.
Meanwhile I'm staring at her with wide eyes, not sure what the hell I'm going to do. I'm at least out of my bridesmaid dress but I haven't showered, I'm in just a baggy t-shirt and shorts and my hair and leftover makeup is a greasy gross mess. I am not the girl from last night, not by a long shot.
"It's Emmett. A friend of hers."
Carla lets go of the button and gasps. "Oh my god, Alyssa!"
"I know!" I yell right back. "We aren't friends! What do I do?"
"You let him up!"
"Why?!"
"Because you need to figure this shit out with him. You're in it together."
"But–" I start to protest but she's jabbing the button forcefully.
"Come on up!" she yells into it then whirls around, clapping her hands together. "This is going to be fun."
"You're worse than Tiffany," I tell her with a groan.
"For shame," Carla says. "I'm just glad that things will be sorted out. I didn't sign up for a famous roommate. By the way, you should probably change."
I glance down at my wanton bralessness and know I look like a hot mess. I know I want to go change, make myself look presentable, then I remember I shouldn't care what Emmett thinks.
And there's also not enough time. Our apartment is on the ground floor and now Emmett is knocking at the door.
Carla goes to answer it but I quickly brush past her. I don't even know if I want Emmett in the apartment not with everything that's going on, and Carla would probably sit him down and start cooking him breakfast too, telling him my entire life story and especially all the embarrassing bits.
With my hand on the knob, I take in a deep breath and open the door.
And there he is.
I hoped, hoped, hoped that it was the excess alcohol and the sappiness of the wedding that skewed my memory of him, making him more attractive in my head.
But that is not the case at all.
Here, today, in the sobering light of the hallway, he's tall and deliciously broad-shouldered, in a faded charcoal t-shirt and dark jeans that look as fantastic on him as the suit did. Maybe even more so because now I can make out the hard lines of his chest, the bulge of those huge biceps and thick forearms, the very arms that held me up last night like I weighed nothing at all.
And then there's his face. It's absolutely boyish with that wide, cheeky smile of his, his blue eyes twinkling. My stomach shouldn't be doing flips at the sight of it and he certainly shouldn't be smiling given the circumstances, but this is what's at my doorstep today.
To think I didn't want to open the door.
"Hey blondie," he says. "Can I speak to you for a second?" And before I can say anything he looks me up and down. "Rough night?"
"Why are you here?" I manage to say, ignoring his comment. "How did you find me?"
"You really don't know why I'm here?"
"How did you find me?" I repeat.
"I have ways," he says, his eyes flitting over my shoulder to Carla. "Hello," he says to her cordially.
"Hey," she responds in a voice that tells me she's trying hard to play it cool.
"So can I come in?" he asks, looking back to me, brows raised, creating lines across his forehead. Somehow it makes him look even more adorable.